Contents

DedicationCopyright page

Why I Wrote This StoryKat Flynn's Guide to Getting

Over a CrushFact of Life #31 Excerpt

ReviewsAbout Denise

Buy Fact of Life #31

To everyone who has everhad an unrequited crush…

KAT FLYNN'S GUIDE TOGETTING OVER A CRUSH

by Denise Vega

Copyright page

Kat Flynn’s Guide toGetting Over a Crush

An e-short story

by Denise Vega

This story is a work offiction. Names, characters,places, and incidents areproducts of the author’simagination or usedfictitiously. Any resemblanceto actual events, locales, orpersons, living or dead, ispurely coincidental.

Cover Design by ZacharyVega-Perkins

Copyright © 2013 byDenise Vega

All rights reserved,including the right toreproduce this book orportions thereof in any formwhatsoever. For information,contact Denise Vega, P.O.Box 101596, Denver, CO80250-1596http://www.denisevega.com

Denise is available for

in-person and Skype authorappearances. See her websitefor more information.

Why I Wrote This Story

I've had a lot of positivefeedback and reviews for myteen novel, Fact of Life #31(published by Knopf Booksfor Young Readers). Manyreaders have asked for moreon Kat and Manny, mostly inthe form of a sequel, but I justcouldn’t wrap my mind or my

passion around the idea of asequel—the book feels like itends exactly where it shouldand I didn’t want to messwith that. I liked that theending for Fact of Life #31allows the reader to imaginewhere things might go next.

Then, at the end of 2012,I came up with an idea thatexcited me—what about ashort story? Great! Loved thatidea since I was also workingon a novel that wascompletely different than

anything I’d ever done.But what should the short

story be about?After trying out a few

ideas, I came around to one ofthe things that reallyintrigued me about Kat—she’d had a crush on the sameguy for five years. I had a lotof crushes when I was inmiddle school and highschool, but most of themdidn't last more than a fewweeks. So what the heck wasup with Katima Flynn and

this never-ending crush?I wanted to find out, so I

wrote the story you find here:“Kat Flynn’s Guide to GettingOver a Crush.” It completelystands on its own, but couldalso serve as a bit of a prequelto the novel, giving a littlebackstory before that bookbegins, so I hope it willplease both readers who havealready read Fact of Life #31and spark the interest of thosewho have not.

I hope you enjoy reading

“Kat Flynn’s Guide to GettingOver a Crush”—I had a blastwriting it!

—Denise Vega

Kat Flynn's Guide toGetting Over a Crush

He was standing just outsidethe gym, talking and laughingwith a group of guys andgirls. All six-foot-two, dark-haired awesomeness of him.So close and yet so far away.Once again I tried to imagine

sketching him. Could Icapture the tilt of his chin, theway his hair fell softly overthe collar of his shirt?

The first time I’d thoughtof it was last year when Icame across a picture of himin the yearbook. In thepicture, he was looking overhis shoulder as he walkeddown the hall, as if someonehad called out to him frombehind, his grin caughtforever by the camera. I oftenwondered whom that person

was and what they’d said tomake him smile even beforehe’d turned around.

I didn’t sketch him thenand I knew I wouldn’t sketchhim now. It felt too intimateand we were anything but.

“Get in line, right?”I started at the voice. I

looked down to see a girl Ididn’t recognize standingnext to me. I had to lookdown. I’m taller than most ofthe girls I know and morethan a few boys.

“What?”“Manny Cruz,” she said.

“Male extraordinaire. Majorlust object.”

Okay, who was thisperson and why was she inmy personal space callingManny a “major lust object?”

“I’m not—”She laughed, cutting me

off. “You don’t have to admitit to me. I don’t care. But it’sall over your face.”

I frowned. Looking atsomeone you might want to

sketch and looking atsomeone with lust was not thesame thing. I knew it wasn’t.

“I think you’reconfused,” I said.

She smiled. “Maybe, butsomehow I doubt it.” Shestepped past me, allconfidence and girl-swagger.“You probably know it’s areally long line,” she said,and then glanced back at me.“But I intend to cut.”

She walked away, towardManny and his crew. She was

what? A freshman? No,probably a sophomore. Giveme a break.

I watched as she sloweddown when she got close tohim, turning her head slightlyas she smiled. He glanced upat her briefly, and then backto his phone, where he wasbusy texting and nodding atsomething one of his friendshad said.

My first thought: Thatwas so obvious.

My second thought: Was

that how I looked when I wasaround him?

Thursday morning I ran intoMs. Dufford, my art teacherfrom last year. She waswearing one of her signaturehomemade skirts—this onehad been created out of whatlooked like an old bed sheet,with cars and trains racingaround it.

“Very nice,” I said. Shewas the only person I knewwho could wear bed sheets

and have everyone—facultyincluded—raving about hertrend-setting fashions.

“Thank you, Katima.”She curtsied slightly as shecame toward me. “How’s myfavorite artist?”

I grinned. “All of yourstudents are your favorites.”

“What can I say?” shesaid. “It’s true.” Ms. Duffordhad been to Abra’s Midwiferyand seen the Babies on Parademural I’d done and asked whyI hadn’t signed up for one of

her drawing and paintingclasses. I told her theywouldn’t fit my schedule, butthe truth was I wasn’t sure Iwanted my art judged—byher or anyone else in theclass. If it was up on a wall,completed, people justadmired it. It could be mineand only mine without inputfrom anyone else.

I did wonder what itwould be like to sell a pieceof art, to have someoneconnect with my vision in

such a way that they wantedto possess it, hang it up, lookat it every day. I knew thatstudents in all of the artclasses were invited toparticipate in the winter artshow and sale and that whenthe sale was over, the studentartists got to keep half themoney and the other halfwent into a fund that Ms.Dufford used to provide artsupplies to schools in need.Last year they went with herto deliver the supplies and

give a mini art lesson to aclass of fifth graders. Thatwas the part I regretted. Itwould be fun to help a littleperson fall in love with artand feel proud of what they’dcreated.

“Are you working onanything right now?” Ms.Dufford asked, bringing meback to the hallway. Shealways talked to us like wewere working artists, as if ourprojects were lined up justwaiting for us to come to

them with pencil, charcoal,paint or clay. Thoughactually, that was sort of me.

“Just a mural at homeright now.” I thought I’dfinished it, but it feltunfinished somehow so I’dbeen pondering it lately. Ialso had random sketches I’ddo here and there but I didn’tcount those.

“That sounds fun,” shesaid. “I love the ones at yourmom’s office.”

I smiled.

“Well, I’m off to getsome supplies for myceramics class,” she said.“Have a good day, Katima.”

“You, too.” I turned tohead to class and when Ireached the end of thehallway, something in the artstudio caught my eye.Pressing my face against thewindow to the left of thedoor, I read the flyer:

Designer Wanted!I’m looking for a

student to design the

art display case andthe Clubs andAthletics Fair tablefor Back to SchoolNight.

Submit your design ideasvia the web link below.You’ll be identified by anumber and will only beable to submit one idea.(I don’t want to playfavorites—oh, wait,you’re all my favorites )Don’t include anything

that will give away youridentity. If I suspectyou’ve done that, I won’thesitate to press Delete.Submit no later thanAugust 24th at the end ofthe school day.I’ll make my selectionand contact the studentby August 28

I felt a little shiver ofexcitement run up my spine.I’d never done anything likethis, but I could already feel

ideas pricking at the back ofmy mind. Not only would Ilove to do it, it was just thething to get my mind off he-who-I-should-not-be-thinking-about.

And then I read the lastline:

I will only consider thefirst ten ideas submitted sodon’t procrastinate, people!

Oh no. When had thenotice gone up? The deadlinewas tomorrow. Had shealready gotten the ten? I

rushed down the hall, notcaring that I’d be late to class.I had to find Ms. Dufford.

She was in the ceramicsroom, unloading a box, whenI rushed in. I stopped short inthe doorway, taking in thewet, earthy smell of clay, thecolorful rows of unglazed andglazed pieces lining theshelves. Even though I hadn’ttaken ceramics, I felt like Iwas coming home. Creativityswirled from every corner. Itwas intoxicating.

“Katima!” Ms. Duffordraised an eyebrow. “Aren’tyou supposed to be in class?”

“Yeah,” I said, “but I sawthe sign in the studio for adesigner. Did you already getten?”

She furrowed her brow.“Oh, dear. I may have. Imeant to check and take thesign down if I’d gotten ten.”

It turned out she had twoslots left. During lunch I usedone of the school computersto submit an idea that had just

popped into my head—I wasDesigner #9 according to thewebsite—and crossed myfingers.

“So she’ll notify the designershe wants to use on Tuesday.”

I was sitting on my bedacross from my best bud,Christy Buchanan. She waswearing her black gambler’shat—“It’s not a cowboyhat!”—because it was Friday.Christy loved hats and had adifferent one for each day of

the week.“That sounds perfect for

you,” she said. “I can’t waitto see it.”

“I have to get selectedfirst. Ugh. I have so muchhomework.” I tugged booksout of my backpack. “Did youeven understand what Dr.Harding was saying in Trig?She seemed to be talking in aforeign language.”

Christy laughed. “Yeah,it’s pretty crazy. I think I mayneed to get a tutor.” She

tapped her phone. “So tell meabout Manny and this girl youtexted me about earlier.What’s up with that?”

I wrinkled my nose.When I’d thought about cut-in-line girl, I’d gotten thatuncomfortable feeling you getwhen you’ve done somethingstupid or embarrassing andyou just want to shake it off.The lame way she’d tried toget Manny to notice her, howhe hadn’t, and how I knew,somehow, that that was me,

too. It’s a long line.Did I really want to be in

it? Especially since I was atthe back?

“I think it’s time to admitdefeat with Manny and moveon,” I announced.

“But you haven’t evenread my report.” Christypointed to the little orangenotebook between us—akathe Buchanan Field Report.She’d started the notebookback in seventh grade – a

compilation of herobservations about otherpeople at the school; our ownmiddle school tabloid thatonly the two of us read. Shehad a section on Manny,starting back when I’d firstgotten my crush on him.

“He’s not dating anyoneright now,” she said. “Thiscould be your time.”

Yet another thing to loveabout Christy. Even though ithad been four years ofnothing, she was still there

for me if that’s what Iwanted. Not once had she saidthat maybe I should lookelsewhere or judged me aboutthe Manny crush (unlike herboyfriend, Glen, who thoughtI was crazy and Manny wasout of my league).

I told Christy about cut-in-line girl.

“That’s her,” she said.“Not you. What does sheknow? Besides, Mannydoesn’t go for younger.” Shestopped, pressing the top of

her pen against her lip. “Well,maybe once, but I think thatwas it. He’s pretty picky.”

“It’s been so long,” Isaid. “It’s embarrassing.”Even now, starting my junioryear, I could remember theday when I’d first felt theflutter.

It was seventh gradeSpanish class. Our teacherhad paired everyone up toread through the dialogue inour book so we couldtranslate and answer the

questions that followed. “Kat Flynn and Manny

Cruz,” she read from herpaper.

I'd noticed Manny inclass, but it wasn't until weswitched seats and I sat nextto him for the dialogue that Iactually looked at him. Imean really looked at him.

Whoa.He had this amazing

wavy dark hair and dark eyeswith to-die-for thickeyelashes. At close range I

could see three adorablefreckles marching across thebridge of his nose. Okay,there were a few zits too, butit was seventh grade and Icould overlook those becauseof the hair. And the eyes. Andthe way he smiled a littlewhen he sat down, like weshared a secret.

“What page did she say?”He flipped open his book as Iscooted in my chair.

“Fourteen.” I opened myown book, turning to the

correct page while watchinghim out of the corner of myeye. Were those lashes forreal?

“You start,” he said, so Iread the first line. Then heread:“¿Quiere que decir ‘Ilove you’ en español?”

How do you say “I loveyou” in Spanish? Doublewhoa. Sure, it was a storyabout an older womanadvising a little girl whowanted to say it to hergrandmother, but I could

work with it. My heart had skipped a

beat, even though he was justreading what was on the pageand didn't even seem toregister what the words were.I remember thinking(wishing?) that he hadregistered it, deep down in hissubconscious where thesethings get filed away forfuture reference.

We continued thedialogue, answering thequestions that followed.

Once, his elbow brushed mineand sent a tingle through myarm. When we finished, wepassed our notebooks forwardand people returned to theirregular seats for theremainder of class.

We weren't paired up fora dialogue or anything elsefor the rest of the year, but itdidn't matter because I wasgone.

“OMG,” I had said toChristy after school that day.“He is so cute.”

“I'm on it.” She hadopened her Buchanan FieldReport to a new section andlabeled it MC. She made ither business to find out asmuch about Manny as shecould, and every few daysshe'd give me the update—how many and which girlsliked him, who he might like,who he hung out with.

This went on througheighth grade and into highschool. It was true that Iwould occasionally have

another crush or didn’t likeanyone at all. Like in eighthgrade I liked John Stanton forabout a week because hesmiled at me and then askedme to the spring dance. Itturned out he really wanted toget close to Christy—mostlybecause she had boobs, whichhad suddenly appeared thesummer before eighth grade—but by then she was alreadygoing out with Glen, wholoved her boobs, but hadproved himself by not

touching them for a long timewhich meant he now got totouch them a lot.

So I spent the dancemoving and twisting in frontof John while he craned hisneck to watch Christy, whoonly had eyes for Glen.

And then there was BenSlater freshman year. Startinghigh school had been exciting—so many new people,including new guys. I wasconvinced that there wassomeone to take my mind off

Manny and when Ben bumpedinto me—literally—as Istepped out of English class, Ithought it was fate. He waseverything Manny was not—straight blond hair, blue-eyes,thin bordering on skinny.

And he talked to me.Noticed me. Even left a notein my locker once.

Come to my tennismatch?

Okay, so he wasn’tprofessing his undying love,but it was a start.

So I went, draggingChristy along with me. Hesmiled and waved at me and Ismiled and waved back.

“He’s cute,” Christy saidas they started the match.“Not Manny Cruz hot, butdefinitely cute.”

Unfortunately it onlylasted five days. He told mehe needed some space. Ilaughed. I thought he waskidding. It wasn’t like we’dreally been together. But itfelt like it could be

something. The next day Isaw him talking to anothergirl. Another tennis matchwas coming up. I had afeeling she was going to get anote in her locker later and Irealized it didn’t bother me.

I went for a few weeksnot liking anyone and then Iwas back to lusting afterManny Cruz.

“Did you feel like youwere cheating on him?”Christy asked me when theBen thing was over

(tennis/note in lockerprediction right on themoney).

I sighed heavily. Hearingit out loud made it sound evenmore ridiculous. “I know it’scrazy. I can’t cheat onsomeone I don’t have.”

“No, but I understand thefeeling,” she said. “And yourfear that if you start going outwith someone else, you’veclosed the door on Mannyforever.”

I groaned. “Do you see

how serious this is? You haveto help me.” And she did,introducing me to anotherlittle detour last year namedDan Mason. Dan said he likedthat I was flexible. I thoughthe meant going with the flow,but he actually meant howflexible my body was. He’dcaught me doing yoga posesnear the theater. He wasn’timpressed that I would doyoga in plain sight of others.He was impressed that I couldsit cross-legged with my feet

up on my thighs in lotusposition, and then lean downto place my forehead on thefloor.

“If I could do that,” hesaid. “I could really do somedamage on the wrestlingmat.”

I invited him to my yogaclass, but he refused, asking ifI could just show him how todo some of the poses myself.I tried, but his body couldn’tseem to get it.

“I don’t know why you

can do contortions on the matand not do this,” I said to himone day.

He’d just shaken hishead.

But he seemed to like meand I thought I liked him untilI was standing outside theboys’ locker room waiting forhim to come out and Mannycame out first.

“Hey,” he said beforewalking past me.

I couldn’t even speak. Itwas like he took my breath

with him when he passed.And that’s when I knew.

There was no one butManny for me.

So Christy kept up theMC section in the BFR and Ilistened eagerly to herreports. Until now.

I sighed, looking intoChristy’s gentle eyes. “Ifyou’ve had a crush on a guyfor four years, is it still acrush? Or just pathetic?” Ishook my head. “I’m thinkingpathetic, even though I still

can’t seem to stop likinghim.”

“It’s not like you can justshut off your emotions anytime you want to.” Christytapped the notebook absently.

“Maybe I could. If Ireally tried.” I bit my lip. “Ineed to get over him.”

We both looked down atthe little orange notebookbetween us. It seemed toglow, inviting me to pick itup, open it to the MC section,find out the latest on Manny

Cruz.Maybe just a peek. One

more piece of informationbefore I went cold turkey.

My fingers twitched.Then relaxed. I crossed myarms over my chest.

“I’m done with the BFR.At least the parts aboutManny.”

“Okay.” Christy pickedup the notebook and tucked itinto her funky, patchworkshoulder bag. But then shereached in again and I thought

she was going to pull it backout.

“No!” I said. But itwasn’t the familiar orangenotebook. This one was green.And empty—the pages fresh,clean and white.

“Okay,” she repeated.“So how’s this going towork?”

Uncrush Step #1: StopStalking Following Tryingto Be Where He Is

Not surprisingly, Christy

managed to find out Manny’sschedule every year so I couldaccidentally on purpose be ata nearby water fountain or setof lockers or doorway whenhe emerged from a classroomor came around a corner. Nomore. From now on I’d justfollow my own schedule.

“This is good,” Christysaid the first day of Step #1.“We can see what guys are onyour natural route and scopethem out. Maybe we’lldiscover one who’s been

checking you out without useven realizing it becausewe’ve been so focused onManny.”

“What?” The thought ofsome guy secretly piningaway for me while I’d beenpining for Manny seemedpretty ridiculous. Still, it didgive me a little thrill. Maybethere was some cute guy who,unlike Dan Mason, wouldappreciate my calm andbalance while doing a yogatree pose.

“Move, Yoga Girl.” Ashoulder bumped mine,sending me hard against mylocker.

“Hey!” Christy and I saidin unison. But the guy whobelonged to the shoulder wasalready gone, pushingsomeone else out of his way.

Okay, so maybe Iwouldn’t be admired for mymad yoga skills.

“Do you want me to walkwith you?”

I shook my head. “I can

do this.”“No veering?”“No veering.” It would

take some practice to followmy regular route, but I’dmanage. It wasn’t just aboutit being a habit; I reallyneeded to see him. It was likea drug or something and thewithdrawal kind of sucked.

Closing my locker, Ihoisted my backpack on myshoulder. “See you at lunch.”

Christy smiled andnodded before walking away.

It was just me and my newnon-Manny plan.

As I headed to class, Iswung by the art studio andnoticed Ms. D had posted anew sign:

DESIGNERS: I have myten applicants! Thank you for

your interest.So someone had signed

up after me. My idea wasgoing up against nine others. Iwondered what the otherideas were and how minemight stack up. Were they all

current students? Was itanyone I knew? I thoughtback to last year’s class,trying to think of anyone whomight want to do this. A lot ofthem had been like me,content to draw and paint bythemselves without a lot ofinteraction. I couldn’t thinkof anyone who would want toput themselves out there.

Come to think of it, whywas I doing it? If I wasselected, I’d have to stand atthe table and talk to people.

I’d have to be articulate andknowledgeable about our artprogram (when I’d nevertaken a class) and the artclubs (which I’d neverjoined). I’d have to make sureI didn’t make a fool ofmyself. I’d—

“Katima!” Ms. Duffordwas walking toward me. “Didyou submit something for theBack-to-School Designer?”

“Don't you want it to beanonymous?”

“Oh, I won’t know which

one’s yours. Well, I might.But, it doesn’t matter. I’mjust glad you did.”

“But I didn’t say—”“I know. But I could

tell.” She smiled and pattedmy arm. “If it doesn’t workout or even if it does, I hopeyou’ll reconsider and join oneof the art clubs. I think you’dbe a real asset.”

“I’ll think about it,” Isaid, even though I had nointerest in staying afterschool to do whatever they

did in the clubs.“Good. See you later.”

She was off in a swoosh ofwhat looked like a skirt madeof canvas grocery bags.

I arrived at my firstperiod class and sat down,realizing that I’d been so busythinking about art and thedesign thing that I hadn’t hadtime to think about not seeingManny. Any other day Iwould have been near thewater fountain by thechemistry lab where he had

first period, hoping for a lookor a smile my way.

I had a moment of dread.What if this had been the dayhe would have actuallylooked at me and smiled?What if he was going to saysomething to me today and Iwasn’t there to hear it andreply?

My muscles twitched as Ithought of jumping up andrushing out of the classroomand over to the chem lab. Butthen the bell rang and I was

able to take a breath andrealize how stupid that wouldhave been.

The point was to get overhim. I was alreadyimplementing Step 1—notpurposely trying to see him—and it was going well so far.True, I was only about tenminutes into it, but I had tostart somewhere.

One period down, sevento go.

I got through the next two

periods pretty well. I arrivedat third period late because Iautomatically started headingtoward the east hall whereManny had TwentiethCentury Lit and realized itwhen I was practically thereand had to double back to myclassroom. Luckily theteacher was talking to astudent so I slipped into myseat without being asked for atardy pass.

But on my way to lunch Isaw him. He was standing

near some lockers with hisfriends, nodding andlaughing. I sucked in a breath,my heart doing its usualManny hop-skip.

God, look at him. He’s sogorgeous with that dark hairand his amazing eyes andman, does he fill out that T-shirt.

Stop.I kept my eyes forward,

willing myself not to look athim, to appear uninterested,doing my own thing. Almost

there. Ten feet away. Fourfeet away. Two feet away.Passing him—

“Hey, Kat.”I turned toward the voice,

a male voice that wasn’tManny’s.

“Oh. Hey, JT.” Jason“JT” Turner had been in acouple of my classes the lasttwo years. We weren’t reallyfriend friends, just the kindthat talked about homeworkor stuff going on at school.But he was nice and I felt

comfortable around him,which made me give him asecond look. Maybe he wasthe One and Manny was justmy unattainable orincompatible distraction. Thathappened a lot in books andmovies where the girl realizesat the end that the love of herlife was right there in front ofher (or beside her) the wholetime she was going after aguy she didn’t belong with.

“Going to lunch?” JTasked.

“Yeah. You?”“Yeah.” He waited, as if this reply

was a segue into somefabulous conversation. Ormaybe he wanted to walk tothe cafeteria with me, which Irealized I didn’t want to do.

“Okay, well, see you.”“See you.”Maybe I was too quick to

judge, but I didn’t think JTand I were going to hit it offin any romantic way. Icontinued to my locker and

then on to the cafeteria.“So?” Christy raised an

eyebrow as I sat down at thetable across from her. I wasglad to see Glen wasn’tattached to her today; I didn’treally want to talk aboutOperation Uncrush in front ofhim.

“Not bad,” I said. “I hadone sighting just now, butdidn’t go near him.” I didn’ttell her about JT. She mightmake it out to be more than itwas. “On another topic, Ms.

Dufford asked if I hadsubmitted an idea for thedesign thing.”

“I thought it wassupposed to be anonymous.”

I nodded. “Right? But shesomehow knew I’d done itand she was glad. I wonder ifshe’ll be able to tell whichone is mine.”

“Probably, because it willbe the best one.” Christygrinned. “Now will you tellme what it is?”

I shook my head. “Not

till I know if I get to do it.”“Okay, fine. Then back to

Operation Uncrush. Can youget through the afternoon?”

I nodded. I could do this.I just had a little challengetrying to control my desire tofollow the Manny route.

Uncrush Step #2: StopMooning Over ThinkingAbout Him

Tuesday afternoon Ireceived an email from theDesign website:

Congratulations! You’ve

been selected to design theBack-to-School Night displayand table. There was a tie socome to the art studio rightafter school to meet yourpartner in art!

A tie? A partner? Iwasn’t sure I liked the idea ofworking with someone else,but at least Ms. Duffordwould be there to help.

I arrived at the art studioas soon as I could get mystuff together. It was empty,so I dropped my backpack on

the floor next to a table andwandered the perimeter,taking in the ceramics,sculptures, and paintings thatdotted the shelves and walls. Ihad my back to the door whensomeone entered.

“Hey, I’m Mira. Youmust be the other winner.”

I turned around—and my chin nearly hit

the floor.Cut-in-line girl had a

name.Mira.

“You,” we said in unison.“So you know my name,”

she said. “What’s yours?”“Kat,” I mumbled, just as

Ms. Dufford entered.“Wonderful! You two

have met. Won’t this be fun?”She was carrying a large stackof newsprint, which she set onone of the tables. “You bothhad such amazing ideas that Ithought the display would bethat much better with youworking as a team.”

Mira frowned. “How

exactly is this going to work?I’m sure we have verydifferent ideas.”

“Actually, theydovetailed nicely,” Ms.Dufford said. “Katima has anartist studio theme wheresome of the art isincorporated into everydayobjects and your theme has todo with found art. Kat’s ideais more fleshed-out, though,so let’s start there.” Shepulled a folder out of her bag.“Here, I’ll show you.”

She laid out two pieces ofpaper—my design and, Iassumed, Mira’s. We bothstepped toward the table fromopposite sides.

Mira stared at my design,frowning.

Her design was good andI started nodding. “Yeah,” Isaid. “I can see how thiswould work.”

“Really?” Mira lookedunconvinced.

“Sure.”“So, is Kat like the leader

or whatever?” Mira asked Ms.Dufford. “Do I have to listento everything she says?”

Ms. D smiled. “This is ateam effort. The three of uswill be working together. ButI’d like most of the ideas tocome from the two of you.”She pulled out a clean sheetof newsprint. “Okay, let’s getstarted.”

Christy busted out laughingwhen I told her I was workingwith Cut-in-Line Girl.

“This is perfect,” shesaid. “If she keeps going afterManny, you’ve got a frontrow seat for what not to do.”

She “stopped by” the artstudio on Wednesday afterschool to give me a book, butit was really so she couldcheck out Mira. She shookher head ever so slightly andgave me a look that said“This is your competition forManny Cruz?”

I just smiled andshrugged.

The first week actuallywent pretty well. At least Ithought it did. Mira keptwrinkling her nose every timeI made a suggestion, even if itwas about using her work. Butwe did make some progress,coming up with an overalldesign for the display case.We’d carry the same themeon a smaller scale to the arttable in the cafeteria for theActivities and Clubs Fair.

“Great work, girls,” Ms.D said as we gathered our

backpacks.“Thanks for doing this,” I

said. “It’s just what Ineeded.”

Mira and I walked outtogether, though not bychoice.

“I have to hurry,” shesaid. “I’m meeting Manny.”She lingered a moment, nodoubt letting this informationsink in.

I pulled my phone out ofmy pocket and flipped itopen. “See you.” I hoped I

sounded nonchalant becauseinside I was about to scream.How could she possibly bemeeting Manny when lastweek he barely looked at her?Of course, I hadn’t seenManny much because of thenew uncrush plan. Maybethey’d become friends overthe last several days.

I tried to push thethought out of my mind. I wastrying to get over him. I hadto let things like this happen.It wasn’t like I could do

anything about it anyway.

The next Tuesday I was atAbra’s Midwifery, catchingup on some paperwork beforeher first appointment arrived.I was hopeful that being herewould help get my mind offhim. Part of Step Two was notsaying his name, the ideabeing that he would becomeless Manny and more justsome guy if I didn’t keepusing his name.

So far it wasn’t working.

Now, when I heard the word“him,” I thought of Manny.Not really helpful sincepeople tossed around “him”all the time, not realizing howdifficult it was for me to hearit.

I looked up at the FateGoddess image on the wall. Iwished she could tell me if Iwas doing the right thing withthis whole Manny business.Somewhere deep inside, I felta truth to Manny and me. ButI couldn’t explain it without

sounding like I was thestereotypical girl with a crushon a guy she couldn’t have. Ibelieved, on my best days,that Manny was a guy I couldhave. Just not right now.

Right now I needed tofocus on the “not right now”part and move forward. Ipulled out my sketchbook andstarted brainstorming a fewmore ideas for the art displayat school.

Getting everything ready for

the display and tables meantmeeting with Ms. Duffordand Mira to review dozens ofpieces to decide which oneswould go in the case andwhich on the tables and tocommunicate with the studentartists. This meant dealingwith the sometimes angryreactions of those whose workwasn’t selected.

“You’ll be in the wintershow,” I kept telling them.“We’re just trying to show avariety of styles and media.”

Ms. Dufford had insisted Iinclude a painting I’d told herabout last spring called“Invisible.” It showed a huge,vibrant, colorful tree in themiddle of a square withpeople walking through it asif it wasn’t there. It had beena challenge to maintain thecolor while making the treesemi-transparent.

Mira’s piece was asculpture of a bike made froma variety of different metalpieces—parts of an aluminum

pop can, some aluminum foil,tin lids and thin metal rods. Itwas called “Re-cycle,” whichI thought was extremelyclever and told her so.

She just shrugged. “Itwas a finalist in a sculpturecontest last year. It’s not evenone of my best pieces.”

Whatever.That afternoon I was

carrying a roll of white paperback to the display case. Weplanned to use it to line thewalls so we could paint a

background. It was a littleunwieldy, so I kept shifting itfrom arm to arm.

“Need some help?”Holy crap. Manny Cruz

was suddenly walking next tome, looking down at me(down, yes, because he wastaller than me. One of thefew.)

“Uh, uh.” Yeah, I’marticulate.

“I think that was a yes.”He reached out and took theroll from me before I could

protest (not that I would have,even though I probablyshould have).

“Thanks.” I sounded alittle breathless—fromcarrying the paper or seeingManny I wasn’t sure. Eitherway, I hoped he didn’t notice.

“What’s this for?”I explained about the

display case and table.“That’s cool,” he said. “I

may see you. Coach askedsome of us to stop by and talkabout basketball at the boys

athletics table.”Okay, no freaking out.

I’m supposed to be gettingover him. But it was likeevery time I was almost there,he’d show up and I’d fall forhim again. Like deep down hedidn’t want me to get overhim even though he didn’treally know me, let alonewant to go out with me.

I knew this was insaneeven before it settled in mybrain. Good thing Mannywasn’t a mind reader.

We arrived at the displaycase in a few minutes.

“You can just lean itagainst the wall.” I pointed tothe left of the case. “I have todo some cutting before I canuse it.”

He did, and thenstraightened up. “Good luck.I’ll swing by and check itout.”

“Thanks again,” I said. Iwatched him walk away asMira strode up. “Was helooking for me? Should I go

after him?”“No to question number

one and to question numbertwo: that’s up to you. He wasjust helping me with thepaper roll.”

She frowned, her eyes onhis receding back. “Did hesay anything?”

“Not really. He said hewould check out the display.”

She brightened. “I guessI’ll see him then.”

I didn’t say anything. Iwas focused on the fact that

our conversation didn’tbother me, that I was moreinterested in getting startedon the display than dissectingwhat may or may not begoing on with Manny Cruzand Mira.

“Go grab the scissorsfrom the room,” I said.“We’ve got a lot of paper tocut.”

Once we’d selected andreceived the student pieces,we had to figure out how todisplay them within our

theme. After a few falsestarts, I had one of those cool“yes!” mental fist pumpmoments and couldn’t waituntil the final bell rang so Icould get to the art studio andtalk about it with Ms. D. Iwas pretty sure Mira wouldhate it not because it was abad idea, but because itwasn’t hers.

“I don’t see how we canuse a ceramic bowl as part ofher studio window,” Mirasaid. She was being annoying,

taking my suggestion of usingthe pieces as part of thesurroundings literally.

“It doesn’t have to bepart of the window,” I said. Ireally, really wanted tostrangle her. She wasn’tstupid, but she liked beingdifficult. “It can besomewhere else in the studio.It could be for her morningcereal, or a container for herpastels.”

“That’s right, girls,” Ms.D said. “Just try different

things until it meets orexceeds your vision.”

We opened up the displaycase and got to work. We hadalready painted the back tolook like a textured wall andhung some of the paintings upas well as added a shelf thatheld a ceramic vase and twoceramic plates. I used jewelryto make a pastoral scene“outside” the window we’dbuilt and mounted on the backwall of the case. It turned outeven better that I’d hoped.

My heart soared and I foundmyself grinning in what I wassure was a goofy andridiculous way. But it feltamazing to have an idea I wasexcited about and be able tobring it to life.

“I guess this vase withglass flowers can go here.”Mira set it on a narrow tablenear the back, where the redsand yellows popped againstthe wall.

“Perfect.” I nodded inadmiration.

About an hour into it, JTstrode by and gave us athumbs up.

“Looking good, ladies.” Iknew he purposely said it thatway so we weren’t sure if hemeant us or the display.Except I could see he waslooking more at Mira thanme.

“Thanks, JT,” I said.“You going out with

him?” Mira asked after hewas out of earshot.

I shook my head,

swallowing a smile. “Just afriend.”

Christy came by after hertutoring session on Friday,her eyes growing wide as shestepped up to the case.

“Oh my God,” shewhispered. “It’s amazing.”

We had pulled out theexisting shelves and done anart studio theme, a life-sizediorama with a mannequinartist on one end holding apaintbrush and working at an

easel that held two smallstudent paintings. On themannequin’s neck, arms andfingers we’d placednecklaces, rings and braceletsfrom the Jewelry and Metalsclasses. Then we’dincorporated other pieces ofart into her surroundings—other paintings became avalance for the window we’dbuilt at the back of thedisplay, jewelry created theview outside the window—hills, trees, and a sparkling

yellow sun. The infamousceramic bowl was now thebase of a planter for ametalwork bouquet.

“Yeah, we’re prettyproud of it.” I looked at Mirawho had been grinning untilshe caught me looking at her.She immediately dropped hersmile and tried for bored.

“It’s okay.”“Okay?” Christy

practically shouted. “Are youcrazy? It’s brilliant. You’llhave crowds around this

thing. They’ll be a trafficjam.”

Mira allowed a flicker ofa smile. “I think it workedpretty well to put my cycle sothat it looks like it’s leaningagainst the wall in the farcorner.” Whoa. She actuallysaid something almostpositive.

“Perspective,” I said.“Gotta love it.”

“It’s genius.” Christy’seyes flitted here and there,taking everything in. “This is

really beyond wow. It’s, like,Ultimate Wow.” She turnedto grin at me. “It’s cool to seeyou so excited aboutsomething. I think you’remore excited about this thanthe mini triathlon you’regoing to start training for.”

I grinned back. “I know.It’s like my brain was justexploding with all of theseideas and then Mira and Ms.D had ideas and it all justtook off.”

“And you’re going to

hang out at the tables at Backto School Night and answerquestions?” Christy shook herhead in mock disbelief. “You,Kat Flynn? Miss Don’t Lookat Me Even Though I CallAttention To Myself byDoing Yoga in the SchoolHallways?”

I laughed.“That’s the other reason I

know you,” Mira said.“You’re Yoga Girl.” Shewrinkled her nose, anexpression I had seen many

times before in our short timetogether. “Well, gotta go.Manny and I have a datetonight.”

Christy raised aneyebrow.

“Who knows?” Mirasaid. “We might end up likethat gorgeous popular couple.You know, those seniors.”

“Mitch and Libby?”Christy couldn’t hide herdisbelief. “No offense, butyou have no idea what you’retalking about.”

She shrugged. “Maybenot. We’ll see.” She hesitateda few seconds more beforeturning on her heel andheading down the hallway.

“That was interesting,”Christy said. “But why wouldshe say she has a date withhim when it’s so easy todisprove?”

“What do you mean?”Christy’s eyes grew wide

and she put her hand to hermouth. “Oops. I’ve said toomuch.”

I grabbed her arm.“You’re not still writingthings about Manny in theBFR, are you?”

“I get scoops,” she said.“From everywhere abouteveryone. I can’t just stopbecause of OperationUncrush.”

I shook my head. “Well,now you have to tell me.”

“No.”“Yes.”“You told me not to.”I paused, realizing I

didn’t want to know. Her“oops” meant he was eitherbusy tonight or datingsomeone else. If I reallywanted to get over him, Ididn’t need to know hisbusiness. One day maybe Iwouldn’t care. But one step ata time.

“Can you help me putthese supplies away?” Igrabbed a pair of scissors anda box of glue. “Mira-Has-a-Hot-Date forgot to do hershare.”

I could feel Christy’seyes on me and knew she waswondering if I was reallygoing to drop it and not askabout Manny again. But shedidn’t say anything; justpicked up the other suppliesand followed me into the artstudio.

Uncrush Step #3: StopLusting After Liking Him

The past two years, Backto School Night was theusual: my parents went to all

of my classes and came homewith a handful of flyers fromall the sports and club tablesto give me, which I wouldtake up to my room andpromptly toss in my recyclingbox.

But this year I was there,a part of things, hanging outwith Ms. Dufford and Mira atthe art tables, which we’ddesigned as an extension ofthe artist’s studio in thedisplay case, with twomannequin arms for the

jewelry, some easels, apotter’s wheel, and more,each decorated with ordisplaying student art. Mydad stopped by beforeheading to my classes (Abrahad a baby to deliver).

“I saw the display case,”he said, shaking his head.“All I can say is—wow.” Hesmiled at Mira and Ms. D.“You all did an amazing job.And this,” he swept his handin front of the table,“beautiful.”

“The girls did it all,” Ms.D said. “You have quite atalented daughter.”

My dad smiled. “That Iknow.” He turned to Mira.“Kat told me how talentedyou were. I bet your parentsare really proud of you, too.Are they here? I’d love tomeet them.”

Mira glanced at thedoors. “Excuse me,” she said,and strode away withoutanother word.

My dad and I looked at

Ms. Dufford.“I think her parents are

out of town a lot onbusiness,” she said, sighing.

“That’s a bummer.” Mirahad parents who weren’taround much. She lied aboutdating Manny. It’s weirdwhen you start to know moreabout a person than what yousee on the outside or whatthey want to show you. Ishifted uncomfortably.

My dad squeezed my armand gave me a meaningful

look. “I’ll see you afterward.Can’t be late for class.” Heheaded off with the otherparents to visit studentclasses.

I smiled slightly, but Iwas still thinking of Mira.

Occasionally someonewould have to pass by thecafeteria and they’d stop in tochat. I was the one whousually ended up talking tothem because Mira keptleaving our table to wanderpast the boys’ athletics table.

An hour ago I would haverolled my eyes. Now I justfelt sad.

Soon enough the classvisits were over and it wastime for the Club andAthletics Fair. People beganstreaming into the cafeteria. Iwas surprised how many ofthem mentioned the displaycase when they stopped at ourtable.

“It’s so creative,” onewoman said to Ms. Dufford.You could tell she assumed

Ms. D had done it, whichmade sense. But Ms. D wasalways quick to point to usand say, “Yes, it is, andKatima Flynn and MiraStokes are the designers.”

I smiled at Mira. Agenuine smile. She looked atme uncertainly, and then gaveme a tentative smile back.

The hour flew by as weanswered question afterquestion and handed outflyers about the art classesand clubs. It occurred to me

that I had never really lookedat any of the clubs even aftertelling Ms. Dufford I would.I’d never been big on joiningthings, but maybe…

I folded up one of theflyers and tucked it into myback pocket.

As the crowd started tothin, I could actually seeacross the cafeteria wheretables were set up for winterand spring sports. And therewas Manny, chatting awaywith some parents. I noticed

some girls hanging back alittle, watching him,including Mira. Sheexchanged a few words withhim, but it wasn’t much.Definitely not what you’dexpect to see if they actuallyhad been out on a date.

I sighed. Mira was braveenough to go up and talk toManny, but had exaggeratedtheir relationship. Anothergirl walked up to Manny—one he smiled at and talked towithout looking at his cell

phone once. Mira’s shouldersslumped and she shuffledaway, across the cafeteria andout the doors.

People started to maketheir way to the exit as it gotcloser to nine-thirty. I couldsee my dad in the hall throughthe doorway, talking to Mr.and Mrs. Buchanan, Christy’sparents. Ms. Dufford and Istarted to break things down,removing the art and placingit carefully in the boxes underthe tables. Mira was still MIA

and Ms. Dufford had beenwaylaid by a parent.

I peeked over at Mannyagain. The girl was gone andhe was chatting it up with hisbuddies.

Suddenly JT was besideme. “For what it’s worth,” hesaid, “he seems like a reallygreat guy. Probably worthwaiting for.”

“What?” I said, mycheeks warming. “Who?”

JT looked across thecafeteria at Manny, but he

didn’t need to; we both knewwho he was talking about.

“Thanks,” I murmured.He smiled. “Hey,” I said suddenly.

“Can you do me a favor?Mira left a little while agoand hasn’t come back. Sheleft her purse.” I held it up.“Would you mind seeing ifyou can find her?”

JT’s eyes lit up. “Is Mirayour little art partner?”

I nodded, trying not tosmile.

“I’ll do better than that,”he said. “I’ll take it to her.”He grabbed the purse andheaded toward the door. Ichuckled. He was practicallyrunning.

“Well, I think that was abig success,” Ms. Duffordsaid as she walked up.

“It was really fun,” Isaid, folding the tablecloths.“I loved every minute of it.”And I realized I did. Beinginvolved in this project hadreally taken my mind off

Manny. But more than that, Iloved doing it. Loved it. Likerunning, I felt alive doing it. Ifelt whole and real andcentered.

Ms. Dufford smiled.“You both did an amazingjob.” She looked around.“Have you seen Mira?”

“I sent a friend to findher.”

She nodded. “Good. I feelbad that her parents weren’there to see her beautifulwork. I hope she’s okay.”

I thought about howexcited my dad had been,knew Abra would havereacted the same way if shehad been here. Mira hadgotten lots of compliments,just not from her parents. Andthen she had circled Mannyand come away empty.

“I’ll make sure she’sgood before I leave.” Wegrabbed the last of the boxesand carried them and theartwork back to the art studio.

“Have a good night,” Ms.

D said.I waved good-bye and

headed toward the doors outto the parking lot. On theway, I saw JT talking to Mira.She was laughing, her eyesbright. When I got closer,they both looked at me andwaved.

I waved back. She lookedmore than okay. At least fornow.

Walking on, I texted mydad that I was coming hisway. I was so intent on my

phone, that I bumped armswith someone going the otherdirection.

“Sorry,” I mumbled,looking up—

At Manny Cruz—Looking at me with a

smile. Of recognition.“Me, too,” he said,

holding up his phone. “Badhabit.”

I nodded.“That display was

rockin’,” he said. “I mean,really awesome.”

“Thanks,” I said as wepassed.

“See ya, Kat.”He knows my name.Of course he knows your

name, you idiot. He’s been atthe same schools as you sinceseventh grade.

But I couldn’t rememberthe last time I’d heard himsay it. And I liked hearing it.

Crap.

My fingers flew fast andfurious over my phone on the

way home, even as I told mydad how great the night hadbeen and how manycompliments we got on thedisplay.

Manny talked to me!Say what? When? What

did he say? From: HatGirlCell, 9:48 pm

“Well I’m not surprised,”my dad said.

But it was almost as if hehad answered my text:

Manny talked to me!Well I’m not surprised.

“You really have a lot oftalent,” my dad said. “I mean,look at the Womb.” He wasreferring to the room he and Ihad built next to Abra’sbirthing room in our house.When it was finished, he’dsaid it was “a womb of yourown” –ha ha. I’d painted amural in it.

“Thanks, Dad.”I texted Christy again,

telling her about the briefencounter with Manny.

So what are you going to

do??? From: HatGirl Cell,9:48 pm

“Kat? Hello?” My dadinterrupted my text convo. “Ireally don’t want to competewith whoever you’re texting.”

“Sorry,” I said, staring atChristy’s question beforeclosing my phone.

What was I going to do?Did I have to do anything?

No. I didn’t. And it didn’thave to mean anything either.It could just be what it was—a short, friendly exchange

between two people. And thatactually felt okay.

“Do you think you’ll doan art club?” my dad asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.“Maybe.” I wasn’t ready toadmit that I was actuallythinking about it, had slippedthe flyer into my back pocket.Most of my art had been veryprivate—something all myown. But I did like the artshow last year. And beinginvolved in the Back toSchool display. And seeing

Mira happy—that wassomething too. I’d feltconfident and competentthese last couple of weeks. Icouldn’t say that for otherareas of my life and I had toadmit I wanted to hold on tothat feeling, see where it led.

When we got home Iheaded up to my room to callChristy.

“See, here’s the thing,” Isaid. “I like Manny Cruz. I’veliked him for four years and Iwill probably go on liking

him until I don’t.” I took abreath and let it out. “But youknow what? He’s noteverything. He shouldn’t beeverything. This thing withthe art display made merealize that I’m really good atsomething, something thatother people can appreciate,not just me. But it wasn’t justabout that. It was about doingsomething I really loved,something that took me to aplace that was comfortableand familiar because it was a

place I’d created and mademy own. A place where ideasflowed and sometimes theyworked and sometimes theydidn’t, but it didn’t matterbecause I knew we’d figure itout. And it had nothing to dowith Manny Cruz. Just me.” Ipaused. There was silence onthe other end. “I’m donenow.”

I could feel Christysmiling through the phone.

“Wow,” she said. “That’sthe most amazing thing I’ve

ever heard.”We talked awhile longer

and then hung up, both of usneeding to finish homework. Ismiled as I sat down at mydesk, feeling more contentthan I had in a long time.

I opened my Spanishtextbook and a little tinglewent through me. Spanishclass meant Manny. Whatwould happen when I sawhim?

Bring it on, I thought. Ican handle anything.

Fact of Life #31Excerpt

Fact of Life #31

a novel by DeniseVega

Click here todownload an excerpt

from the book.Click here to buy the

e-book in the iBooksstore.

Reviews

Praise for Fact of Life#31

“…Told in Kat’spassionate voice, thiscoming-of-age novel,with its romantic subplot,snappy dialogue andstrong secondarycharacters, will appeal tofans of SarahDessen.”—KirkusReviews

“…athletic, artsy,oddball Kat is an unusual

protagonist who doesn’teasily fit into type, andmany readers willwelcome her strongindividuality andbelievablegrowth.”—Booklist

“Vega is a master atputting her characters indifficult situations andallowing them to growand work through things,

and this book is noexception…A beautifulexploration of life, love,and family; definitely amust-read!”—JoleneGutierez, Librarian

“Denise Vega writeswith a touch of quirkyhumor and has built aworld of characters thatreaders will findengaging, complex, and

admirable, even whenthey are not the people wewant or expect them tobe. …Vega’s light touchblends it all seamlessly,making Fact of Life #31 asmooth and satisfyingread for any age.”—Curled up with a goodkid’s book

“…The novel is well-written and well-paced.

All the characters arelikable even as they fail tocommunicate with eachother in moments ofcomedy juxtaposed withreal pain.”* — Kliatt,(*asterisk highlightsexceptional books.)

“…In her secondnovel, Denise Vegadelivers a thoughtful,realistic story about

friendships, families,firsts, and fresh starts.”—Little Willow onAmazon.com

“Readers looking foran amusing yetmeaningful story shoulddefinitely check out Kat’sstory in Fact of Life #31”.—The Book Muncher

“I love, love, love it…

In a way, this onereminds me of DairyQueen and The OffSeason though I’m notsure why my brain hasmade this leap. I supposeit is because of the depthof the characters–it’s rareto fully explore familydynamics with such heartand soul andauthenticity.”—Becky’sBook Reviews

“OK, I cannot sayenough good things aboutthis book! I totally lovedit!! It is so cliche to saythat it made me laugh,cry, etc and that I didn’twant to put it down, butseriously that is exactlyhow I felt!…A must readfor any chick-lit orrealistic fiction reader!”—Kristin, Librarian

“What I loved aboutthis book was the waythat Denise Vega told thewhole story. In placeswhere other authorswould have stopped (theadorable crush finallyasks pining girl out, jerkyboyfriend is roundlydumped for being,y’know, a jerk, daughterfinally tells her mother

what she thinks), Vegawent on, taking usthrough overlappingseries of character andrelationship arcs that windup telling a much morecomplete story.”—Confessions of aBibliovore

“Fact of Life #31continues a trend ofbooks about capable, out-

of-the-mainstream teensthat have just the rightamount of quirk, wit, andteen-society apathy togive a glimpse into awonderfulcharacter.”—What toRead What to Read

“I really enjoyed thistitle… once I hit page 2, Iwas hooked. Denise Vegahas a talent for channeling

a teen girl in her mostvulnerable state, but stillinfuses strength and heartinto the character. Lovedit.”—A Patchwork ofBooks

About Denise

Denise Vega is the award-winning author of six booksfor kids, from toddler to teen,including her middle school“blog” books: Click Here (tofind out how i survivedseventh grade) – a ColoradoBook Award winner – andAccess Denied (and other

eighth grade error messages).Her other YA novels are theaward-winning Fact of Life#31 and Rock On: A story ofguitars, gigs, girls, and abrother (not necessarily inthat order). Denise lives inDenver with her family whereshe loves to hike, walk, swim,read and eat French fries.

Other books by Denise:

Click Here (to find out how iisurvived seventh grade)

Access Denied (and othereighth grade error messages)Fact of Life #31Rock On: : A story of guitars,gigs, girls, and a brother (notnecessarily in that order)

Denise’s Websitehttp://www.denisevega.com

Facebookhttps://www.facebook.com/denise.vega.books

Twitterhttps://twitter.com/DeniseVegaBooks

GoodReads

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/143663.Denise_Vega

YouTube

http://www.youtube.com/user/denisevegavideos

MySpace

http://www.myspace.com/denisevega_author

Skype

http://myskype.info/denise-vega

Buy Fact of Life #31

Want to read more aboutKat and Manny in Fact ofLife #31? Click the linkbelow to buy the e-bookin the iBooks store!

Fact of Life #31 e-book